


By His Side

by through_shadows_falling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, BAMF Castiel, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Secret Santa, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Hellhounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: With Sam and Cas securing the demons and the artifact—reportedly buried in the mountain somewhere—Dean was alone.And screwed. So freaking screwed.The Hellhounds moved together as they surrounded him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [topieornottopie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/topieornottopie/gifts).



> Based on topieornottopie's prompt: Dean gets hurt on a hunt or something, and Cas has to take care of him but Dean's a stubborn little shit who thinks hes Fine™.
> 
> I took a few liberties because I saw you liked established relationships - I hope you enjoy my rendition!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, Julia!

To say Dean was frightened of Hellhounds would…not necessarily be a lie. After all, he’d suffered a pretty grisly end thanks to them.

So when a case out in Connecticut brought Dean face to face with not only some extra shitty demons, but also a bunch of Hellhounds? Well, he was forced to stubbornly grit his teeth, swallow his panic, and soldier on like the good hunter he was.

That could only last for so long, however. He and Sam had unearthed some James Bond-villain-level monocles in the bunker that made Hellhounds visible to anyone wearing them, so at least he could see them. But at the moment, that wasn’t a huge comfort when he was surrounded by five of the beasts, and literally backed up to a friggin’ rock wall.

According to Cas, who was working with Sam upon Dean’s insistence that he could ‘handle the Hellhounds’ (to be fair, there were only two of them at first), the demons here were loyal to Lucifer and searching for artifacts that could help him create another permanent vessel. After all, Sam wasn’t likely to say ‘yes’ anytime soon—or ever again, if Dean had a say. He’d had way too many nightmares of Sam’s face right before diving into the pit.

The three of them had originally caught wind of the demons’ plan thanks to Crowley, who was chasing down another lead on Lucifer himself. That meant that, with Sam and Cas securing the demons and the artifact—reportedly buried in the mountain somewhere—Dean was alone.

And screwed. So fucking screwed.

The Hellhounds moved together as they pressed in, fanned out in a half-circle. Even though the earth should’ve been strange to them, they seemed at ease in the New England forest. Dean could be grateful that they were far from civilization and wouldn’t get civilians injured, but that also meant he couldn’t scream for help. That was his only option, since he’d fumbled and lost his phone while fleeing for his life.

A series of low growls filled the air. Dean’s breaths puffed in the cold, and his whole body trembled with fading adrenaline. He could feel his calves already cramping, and he knew that, even if he could somehow get past the beasts, he wouldn’t be able to run very far—not that he knew which direction to go, anyways.

The knife he brandished quivered in his grasp, a pathetically small weapon compared to the giant, slobbering dogs that he couldn’t stare at for too long, or their fiery essences would burn his eyes. He cursed that he’d dropped his gun, but he’d run out of ammo. He could’ve only used it as a blunt instrument.

Not for the first time, Dean braced himself for yet another painful death. He shuddered when he recalled Billie’s words; there would be no coming back from this.

At least he’d seen his mom again, and sort of reconnected with her. At least he and Cas had started something after eight years of alternately saving and hurting each other. At least he’d mended his relationship with Sam, and could feel confident that the kid would save the world yet again, because Sam was the best of them.

And then the Hellhounds attacked.

One leapt at him, its huge front paws digging into his chest in a painful reminiscence of long ago. He yelled out as he swung to try to dislodge it, and another landed on his back. Yet another sunk its teeth into the meat of his right thigh, and he staggered under the onslaught. He slashed blindly with his knife and caused a few of them to yelp, but that was probably more in surprise than pain. He didn’t think his knife was powerful enough to even draw blood.

The remaining two joined the fray, and their combined weights knocked Dean to the ground on his back, where he thrashed and screamed, refusing to go out without a fight. Still, his whole body was on fire, edged with searing, razor-sharp points that raked through fabric, then skin, then muscle. Blood streamed into his eyes until his whole vision was tinged with red. He couldn’t breathe under the strain, and he quickly couldn’t move at all, since his arms and legs were pinned by beasts that were now invisible, as the special monocle had fallen out at some point.

Dean lost all sense of himself, attuned only to pain and the decreasing beats of his heart. Distantly, he felt sticky and cold—his mind helpfully informed him he was losing too much blood.

And then a bright, blinding white light washed warmly over him. The Hellhounds whimpered and then howled, their death-rattles gurgling as the weight vanished from Dean’s chest. He could breathe better—but barely. Blood still pulsed out of him in weakening spurts.

“Dean!”

Vaguely, Dean realized someone had been calling his name for a while, and not just anyone.

Cas swam into sight above him, worried and haggard, breathing hard. He cupped Dean’s face in his hands, and Dean sighed at how warm he was.

“I don’t have much Grace left, but I’ll stop you from bleeding out. Can you hear me?”

Dean couldn’t speak and couldn’t nod to indicate that he had.

“Oh Dean, I’m sorry I can’t do more. Please hold on. Can you do that for me? I…I need you. Please don’t go. I can’t lose you.”

Dean had never heard Cas’s voice break in such an awful way. He wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was going to be okay—anything to stop Cas from sounding like that—but he couldn’t even lift his head. Part of him was glad of that. He didn’t want to see the mess the Hellhounds had made of his body. Again.

The reminder of his previous experience with Hellhounds had him suddenly gasping, panicked. He arched his back, and there was a cry.

“You need to calm down or you’re going to bleed faster. Shh, it’s alright, you’re going to be alright,” Cas said, his voice frantic.

But Dean was lost. He was going to Hell. Alastair would torture him again, and with Cas basically wing-less, there would be no one to save him. He would turn back into the monster he always was.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I promise. Just hold on.”

A soothing warmth filled him, and Dean’s heartbeat steadied. His limbs still felt like lead, and he was still cold, but he liked this heat. It wasn’t scary, like Hellfire. It was familiar, comforting. He welcomed the sensation as it wormed through his arms and legs and gut. It cleared his sight, and he swore that a great, glowing creature bent over him, all four heads canted in his direction. There was a low humming, too, a gentle song that Dean had never heard but never wanted to stop hearing. He knew this song. He _loved_ this song.

“Cas,” he whispered, or maybe he just imagined it. He reached out to try to grasp something, anything, but darkness fell, and he sank into oblivion.

* * *

Cas was still hovering over him when Dean next opened his eyes. He looked like shit, with heavy bags under his eyes, hollow cheekbones, and waxy hair. What had happened to him?

A sliver of worry wedged into Dean’s heart, though he was distracted by movement. He recognized the jostling motion to be that of a car, and realized that the strange, beige sky floating above him was actually the ceiling of the Impala. A wave of pain hit him then, hard. He groaned through it as a pair of voices echoed from faraway. Sam had to be the one driving—even if Dean couldn’t understand words, he knew his brother’s tone. He seemed upset, though Dean didn’t know why. He hoped Sammy had made it out in one piece, unlike him.

Speaking of, wow. He was alive. Huh.

And just like that, he slipped back under.

* * *

A warm, soft hand glided over his brow and swept into his hair with infinite gentleness.

“—just glad you’re alright. I know you’re still mad at me, and I’m sorry, but I love you. I’ll always love you.”

Dean released a questioning murmur. The person didn’t sound like Cas, so who…?

He peeked his eyes open and there sat his mom, still stroking his face with a tenderness that Dean could almost remember receiving as a child. “Mom?” he croaked.

She broke into a watery smile. “Hi, sweetie. Welcome back.”

Dean blinked at her, confused. He registered softness beneath him, and familiar smells rushed back in. He lay on his beloved Memory Foam mattress, and what felt like the entirety of the bunker’s pillows propped up his beaten, broken body. Dean started to shift, trying to gage how badly he’d been hurt, but his mother stilled him with hands on his shoulders.

“You’ll pull your stitches if you move too much.” She swallowed. “You needed quite a few of them, even with the spell Castiel found.”

“Spell?” Dean asked. His whole body flared with a dull ache.

“Your wounds were going septic,” Cas answered in person, as he stepped into the room, oddly sans trench coat, and with his sleeves rolled up. “Hellhounds cause injuries that don’t exist on this plane. You wouldn’t have properly healed had we left those parts untreated.”

Dean nodded and then winced. All at once, his pain crescendoed to a blistering roar. The memory of Alastair’s whips and flayed skin burst in his mind, but he forced it away, his teeth clenched.

“Can you sit up and swallow some medication?” Cas asked, and Dean managed a nod.

“I’ll get you some water,” his mom said as she and Cas switched places.

On the edge of the bed, Cas radiated warmth. If Dean didn’t feel like a freshly-made Frankenstein monster, he would’ve scooted closer, but as it was he remained still, his vision blurring in and out.

His mom returned with a half-filled glass, which she placed on his nightstand next to a small pill bottle. Perhaps Dean was just seeing things, but as she turned to leave with a gentle wave, he thought he caught her giving Cas a significant look, which Cas returned with an equally meaningful nod.

Just how long had Dean been out of it that they were buddy-buddy enough to achieve silent communication?

He didn’t get a chance to ask, because Cas helped him sit up before grabbing the bottle, shaking out a few pills, and bringing the glass to Dean’s lips. Dean chugged the water, grateful for both the soothing liquid and the upcoming relief of the meds, no matter how much fuzzier they’d make his brain.

“How long s’I out?” he slurred.

“A few days.”

Dean settled back into the pillows. It’d taken them a while to drive all the way to Connecticut from Kansas, so Sam must’ve hauled ass to get Dean back to the bunker.

“You n’Sammy ‘kay?”

Cas nodded and offered a small smile. He hesitated just a second before resuming his mother’s earlier ministrations.

Dean leaned into his touch and let his eyes fall closed. “You look like crap, though.”

Cas huffed. “I haven’t slept much, which hasn’t allowed my Grace to fully replenish.”

“Gotta sleep, Cas.”

Silence met Dean’s words, but he couldn’t open his eyes to see Cas’s expression. The pain meds were kicking in, and exhaustion weighed on him, tugging him down, down, down.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get there in time,” Cas said at last in a quiet voice.

Dean fought to speak. “What’re you talking ‘bout? ‘M still here, right?”

Cas inhaled a shaky breath. “Barely.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” He attempted to smile, and wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded or not.

“Get some rest, Dean,” Cas said, still caressing Dean’s cheek.

“‘Mmkay,” Dean said as he drifted off.

* * *

The next few days were rough, though Dean was lucid for longer and longer stretches of time, and he could feel his strength slowly returning. His mom and Sam rotated caring for him, but Cas never seemed to stray far from his bedside. A long time ago, Dean might’ve panicked at the _conspicuously loving_ way Cas read to him, or helped him eat, or assisted him in going to the bathroom, but Dean’s fucks must’ve flown away. Or maybe it was the pain meds. All he knew was that he was happy Cas was there, and he felt safe in the angel’s presence.

One night, Dean woke feeling too hot for once. He quickly discovered the reason: Cas was plastered to his left side, curled up on the bed like a child with his dark hair a mess on the pillow. Dean smiled down at him, fond. He thought he’d be afraid to progress into deeper relationship territory with Cas, but this was...nice. Easy, even. They’d been looking after each other for so long that taking the extra step toward intimacy was as simple as flipping a switch. He couldn’t imagine going back now.

Gentle knuckles rapped on the door, and Sam shuffled in with a plate in hand. He pointedly eyed Cas, wedged against Dean, and his lips spread into a smirk.

“Don’t say it,” Dean said with an eye-roll.

“Say what? I just came to see if you wanted a sandwich or not.” He lifted the plate. “It’s grilled cheese. Mom made it. She said it’s about the only thing she _can_ cook.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Sam seemed pleased. “Glad to hear it. I guess you’re going to make it after all.”

“Ha ha. Now keep your voice down. Cas is sleeping.”

“I can see that.” Sam handed Dean the plate, and Dean was proud to eat without assistance. He tore into the sandwich with gusto, only partially aware that Sam hadn’t left, and instead seated himself in the armchair beside his bed—a.k.a. Cas’s spot.

“So,” Sam said after a long moment filled only with Dean’s chewing and Cas’s soft snores. “When were you going to tell me? And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Only if you tell me the deets of the case, since no one’s bothered to share. Did me becoming a Hellhound chew toy actually pay off?”

Sam shot him his typical bitch-face, and yeah okay, Dean might’ve been deflecting. But only a little.

Dean heaved a massive sigh. “It just...kind of happened, okay? One second we were killing vamps, the next I know we’re making out like horny teenagers. And that’s it.”

“That’s it,” Sam repeated flatly. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, _that’s it_. What, you want me to go into more detail?”

“I understand your concern, but I believe you’re prying into our personal business,” Cas said as he yawned and fixed Sam with a narrow gaze. The attempt at intimidation was hampered by his ridiculous bedhead, and the fact that he was basically cuddling with Dean, who couldn’t be bothered to shake him off. He liked the solid feel of Cas at his side.

“And if you were curious, no, we have not yet had sexual relations,” Cas added.

Both Dean and Sam made choking noises.

“Dude, don’t say it like that!” Dean sputtered, and then cringed as he aggravated his still-healing injuries.

“Sam, you should go. Dean still needs to rest—”

“Ah, so everyone’s awake now,” his mom said as she appeared in the doorway with a smile. “I made more grilled cheese if anyone is interested. Sam? Castiel?”

“You guys should have some.” Dean made a show of taking a huge bite before speaking with his mouth full, “Ish dewishus! ‘Anks Mom.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, an amused set to her lips.

Sam shook his head. “Why are you so gross?”

Dean just grinned and showed Sam his teeth, using his cheeks to squeeze out soggy bits of chewed bread and cheese.  

“Ugh,” Sam said, his nose wrinkled. He turned to their mom. “I would blame his disgusting behavior on the fact that he’s high on the meds, but unfortunately, that’s just Dean.”

“Bitch,” Dean said, once he’d swallowed.

Sam smirked. “Jerk.”

Their mom seemed puzzled by their exchange.

“I also don’t quite understand, if that makes you feel any better,” Cas spoke up.

“It does, actually,” their mom said with a bit of a laugh.

“I’ll take one of your sandwiches,” Sam said as he stood. He glanced at Dean. “And just so you know, we found the artifact and destroyed it. So yeah, your ‘heroic sacrifice’ was worth it, I guess.”

“Don’t use finger quotes on me,” Dean said. “And you can’t even _talk_ about self-sacrifice.”

Sam had the grace to look abashed at that, and muttered an excuse as he ushered their mom out of Dean’s bedroom without another word.

“Ha! Showed him,” Dean said. He smiled as the sandwich settled pleasantly in his gut. It _had_ been delicious. He was tempted to lick the clinging butter off his fingers.

Instead, he lounged back in bed. He remembered being laid up a few months ago after a hunt-related injury, but he’d been impatient to get back in the game. Of course, that was before he and Cas decided to make their relationship official. Things were different now, and Dean was finally happy to just relax.

“You’re awfully talkative and smiley,” Cas said as he cozied up to Dean again, his head pillowed in the juncture of Dean’s shoulder and neck. “Should I be concerned?”

Dean leaned his chin on the top of Cas’s bristly head and breathed in the scent of his flowery shampoo. “What can I say? I’m in a good mood.”

“You almost died.”

“What else is new?” Dean attempted a shrug and flinched. Right. He was still healing. “And, well. I mean, I guess I’m just glad we’re together now, and it’s not a big deal, you know?”

Cas hummed in response, then continued after a moment, “I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand humans.”

“You understand _me_.”

“That’s because you’re different.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Dean said with a flirty tone.

Cas huffed. “I fear in this state, anything I say will go directly to your head. Besides, you should just know that I...I care about you a great deal. And I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Same.”

They lapsed into silence. Thanks to the meds, Dean’s pain was minimal, but even that disappeared underneath a gentle, heated wave.

Dean tensed. “Are you using your Grace? Stop it, dude, I’m fine. You need some for yourself.”

Cas sat up, his lips pressed thin. “I will use it how I want to use it. This way, you’ll be well enough to walk tomorrow, and we can cut out the stitches early.”

“Cas…”

“I know what I’m doing, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Just...don’t use up _all_ of it.”

“I won’t.” Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple. “Now sleep. You should feel almost completely back to normal when you wake up.”

* * *

True to his words, Dean was the picture of health the next day. His wounds had sealed up, they’d removed the stitches, and apart from some rubberiness in his muscles from a lack of use over the past week, he was good to go.

And as Cas had also suggested, Dean was ready for a walk—not just in the bunker, but outside, where he could breathe fresh air instead of the ‘recycled crap he’d been inhaling in his room.’

With his mom curled up reading his dad’s journal again, and Sam taking a shower, Dean and Cas opted to go on a walk together.

“Just make sure you don’t overdo it,” his mom called as they headed for the door. Again, she exchanged a telling look with Cas.

“We won’t,” Cas said. He grabbed Dean’s hand, and they stepped into the sunshine.

The air was brisk and bracing, but Dean loved the way it filled his lungs and fueled his limbs. It never felt better to walk than after an extended period of bed-rest. Still, he was glad for the warm clothes Cas had forced on him—a puffy winter jacket, a green hat Cas had knitted for him, and worn gloves Dean had picked up at a Salvation Army.

Lebanon, Kansas didn’t change much with the seasons, especially in the sparse area where the bunker was located. The vegetation remained pretty much the same, though the ground crunched under their feet, frozen. Dean looped an arm through Cas’s, and they leaned on each other as they meandered down the dirt road, no direction in mind. Their breaths created clouds that merged and separated around them as they walked.

Despite Dean’s full recovery, he felt the strength in Cas’s arm as the angel held him close, almost as if he refused to let Dean go. Now that the pain meds were flushed from his system, Dean could clearly appreciate what it meant to have Cas at his side, a sensation that was both heady and horrifying. They were hunters, and they would never _stop_ hunting—not unless they got too old to move. Their jobs were dangerous, and this was unlikely the last time he’d encounter creatures he feared, but at least he could rest assured that he wasn’t alone, not really. He had his brother, and his mother, even a few friends.

And Cas, of course. Always and forever, Cas.

Dean’s best friend, his brother-in-arms, his confidant, his defender.

His savior, in more ways than one.


End file.
